The Point Of No Return
by Ryrare
Summary: Only fools try to take the tale one more to lead to a different end.  Then so let me be called a fool.
1. Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

**The Point Of No Return**

**Names after my favorite song in POTO this story is a little bit different that the one we heard, but alas, only fools turn to tell the tale twice.**

**Let it that I may be called then, a fool.**

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><p>Raoul had never been drunker. The alcohol came out each and every pore, and his clothes that might have once been a regal blue was now covered in a filth that would never be removed. Yet how could the count fall so far? Even that one night in Monte-Carlo wasn't enough to do this much. But that night in Monte-Carlo was long ago, and so was his marriage. Oh Christine! What he would give for one more night with her, even an hour! He remember how pale she looked as the blood escaped her, her bright red lips taunting him, knowing that in the end, even that did not belong to him. What to do with Raoul, he though what to do with Raoul.<p>

"Another drink."

"But sir," the bartender retorted, "don't you think that you might have had enough yet? You've already had-"

"Well, _sir_, I need _another_."

The bartender poured another glass and handed it back to Raoul. In the reflection of the glass, Raoul saw the young man- no, boy's expression in disgust, contempt. He had no idea what Raoul had gone through. He would be here all the same if he had known. How Raoul had loved her. How that blasted phantom had loved her, and her to him, blasted opera ghost!

Raoul slammed the drink on the counter, spilling his poison over the counter, drowning his hand. He had to find something, or someone! Just something to take the pain away. Raoul stepped out the door for the first time in days and felt the wind hit him. The chaos never stops on Coney Island, no it never bloody does! Even know, as it was empty, the chaos surrounded him, the thoughts of what happens, happened, here were enough for a circus of a thousand. Raoul looked out to the ocean, and saw the one lone figure, slim, pale, petite. Always moving, always in the water washing away her fears. She wasn't so unlike him. Only she drank with her whole body, not just his mouth.

He scratched at his stubble and saw the face, one that one could never forget, could never un-see. No, it was not that bloody opera ghost to haunt him once more, it was another face a new one. It was calling him, tempting him, calling him toward it with every note of its voice. And he couldn't help but surrender to this siren that pulled forward. Before he had even realized that he was walking, he was there.

The bead clinked softly behind his head as the winds rushed by but he didn't hear them. He was transfixed no this voice calling him it was as if it was a devil, or maybe an angel. He stopped and saw the beautiful face. It tugged at him and pulled yet even as hard as he tried he could not place where he had seen it before. The room felt like an altar, she was the stand and behind her instead of a cross was an arrangement of peacock feathers as grand as could be in a small tent.

She played with the clear sphere in front of her which reflected her ruby red lips and sapphire ears. From inside the sphere came a beady two green eyes. At least it seemed like it, for when he glanced all that he saw were his own eyes ragged face a stubble staring back at him. He panted and felt her sing the words.

_Everybody wants something_

And he felt the words in his bones and through his muscles and with every fiber that made him he felt the words, _everybody wants something_. He did want something. He wanted something so bad that he would even kill for it. He felt almost as if he had already.

_Would you like to make a deal?_

"Yes" he said though he never even moved his mouth, the thick smoke around him surrounded him almost as if it was a lioness about to pounce on its poor unsuspecting prey. He held his breath and he couldn't believe he had spoken to one of those freaks. Yet she was not a freak she was, she was something different. Something he felt he knew well yet he never though he had seen before. The alcohol made his tongue heavy and he tried to keep his breath in but instead ended up panting.

_I'll give you whatever you want sir, if you only wish it._

He wished it, he so wished it. She said a few more words but the smoked blocked them form his head; he felt it pounding pounding pounding. He knew he only had to say it; all he had to do was say it. He looked into her eyes, those beautiful eyes that reminded him of a better time and those bright red lips and before he could stop himself he felt himself say

"I wish Christine was still alive."

And so it was done.


	2. Down Once More

**The fool returns once more**

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><p>The smoke surrounded Raoul spinning faster and faster, and in his dunken stupor he struggled to stand, coughing and sputtering as he heard the siren call the smoke spun faster and it spun him as well and finally he fell and heard a crack in his leg. He screamed, but he couldn't see anything. The smoke was too think, and from the smoke he heard once more, <em>Do you want to make a deal?<em>

And he did, he had made a deal. Oh blast, the pain in his leg he had wanted to make a deal!

He lay there struggling for th breath amoung the smoke, until finally he just could breathe any more.

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><p>Meg Giry came out of the water just as she had for many years. The water felt soothing on her skin and made her feel clean and young again. It was the only thing that made her feel clean and young again. Cony Island was always so empty in the morning. It gave her chills, made her feel like it was haunted by more than just the Opera Ghost, oh, she lamented. He never could forgive her. Not for as long as Christine was dead and she was alive. If only she had taken her own life instead of that of her best friend. That damn gun and all that went with it. And the boy, though he was a boy no longer. Gustav was a man, and a very beautiful one at that. Not like his father at all, except, he was exactly like his father. He hid in the shadows where no one could see and made the greatest music, that when heard, even at noon, felt like looking at a candle in the middle of the darkest night. No, Meg knew that he was exactly like his father.<p>

She sighed as she towled off her long grey hair and stoped when her foot touched something that shouldn't have been there. It was soft, and smelly, like alchohol. She shreiked "Oh my God!" He stirred slightly and Meg shook him harder. "Raoul! Raoul! Wake up! Wake up!"

He stirred slightly and opened his crazed red eyes. He looked around searching for something, Meg could not figure out what. "Did it work? Where is she? Where is my Christine!"

Christine. Always Christine. Even years after her death all anyone wanted was Christine. Meg considered leaving Raoul on the cold ground to find his own way to a cab, but instead she tried to give him a hand up. "Christine is dead Raoul," Meg told him a little bit colder than she really needed to, "Now get up,_ sir_." The word itself was distasteful to her tongue. He took her hand and tried to stand.

"I miss her too Raoul but that doesn't change anything." Though Meg didn't miss her nearly as much as she missed her poor mother, who worked until the very day she died. The pen was still in Madame Giry's hand as she turned to cold stone as even her heart had abandoned her. But Meg never had. Meg was always there with her. The Madame's only source of light. Raoul screamed, the pain in his leg was too much. Meg was taken aback and tried to help him again.

"Stop it, stop it," He finally said, "I don't think my leg works all to, ouch! well right now."

She took him over her sholder and began to walk back to her room. When they finally arrived she set him down on a chair and lifted the trouser leg to see underneath. "I think you have a broken leg Raoul."

"I don't care."

Meg paused and she looked at his grief struken face. So many years had passed, and yet each year he returned, in hopes that it wasn't true. But it was oh so true, Meg could feel it in her hand whenever she thought of Christine. "You know they are doing an auction back at the opera house. I hear they are selling some of the old wears. You might even find something from when she was there."

Raoul looked at her, his eyes blood shot from alchohol and smoke inhalation. and it was then he knew, he couldn't bring her back to life. She was dead and Meg stood there as a constant reminder. Chrstine was dead and there was nothing he could do to remember her by. Or was there? He could travel to see the Opera house's auction. The good Lord knew that the Phantom wasn't there. He had crossed the point of no return he decided. The only way to truely remember Christine, his Christine, his angel, was to return to that hell and see once more, those lights, the curtain, the uneven stairs and that damned chandeleir. "We must go."

And they did. One week later they were on a ship directly to the British port of Dover, and from there they would cross to the land of their youth to see once more the lights of Paris. As he looked onto the ocean he finally remembered who he was reminded of when he ehard her siren call, with those bright red lips and those dark blue earrings. And he cried as he remembered. Then he whispered, not even loudly enough for Meg who was pushing his wheelchair to hear.

"Christine."


End file.
